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Soren Corosa

"Death and resurrection always come at a price."

0 · 633 views · located in The Isle

a character in “Bloodlines”, as played by Skwidge

Description

Soren N. Corosa
The Evincal Bloodline


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At A Glance
Full Name: Soren Niveah Corosa; goes by Rena (Rin-uh), or Sinry
Age: 18
Birthdate: October 14th.
Gender: Female
Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual; Straight.
Bloodline: Dovahkiin Evincal.

Personality
Likes: High places, doughnuts, Tictac, duct tape, reading, constellations, night time, popped collars, hoodies, violin, harp, piano, flannel shirts, poetry.
Dislikes: Loud noises, crowds, interruptions, her uncle, overly flamboyant people, croissants, overly sticky things, boring things, Fae race/Fae abilities.
Fears: Screwing up in necromancy training (horrible, horrible results ensue), Tictac dying beyond salvation, failure.
Goals: Sinry strives to one day be able to summon the dead to do her bidding, and also to be accepted.

Soren has quite a reserved personality in general. You’re much more likely to find her at the top shelf of a bookcase or in her closet reading a book than out in the open playing a game. This is just how she grew up as a kid; she found safety in small confined spaces. She’s fairly quiet unless approached, and she doesn’t really speak out ever, unless she’s suitably comfortable.

Sinry really prefers to be left alone, and she hates being interrupted in the middle of reading or training, and she can flare up pretty easily in her weaknesses, though tries her best to fight against them. In normality, she’s usually pretty laid back and easy-going, and she’s loves exploring, even if there isn’t too much time to be exploring. Rena has absolutely no fear of death (being a necromancer and everything) and actually makes it a point to get out in the field and practice on anything that’s being torn apart. She’s fairly agile (she’d have to be to get up in all of those places) and uses it to her advantage.

The Evincal girl really doesn’t have many views on herself, and usually just goes with the flow. She isn’t necessarily too thrilled with the fact she has to live so closely to other strangers and be constantly scrutinized with her training. She’s also fairly reclusive, and is often found either in the library or the graveyard. Though, getting to know her just a bit or even watch her around other people, one would probably be able to see just how awkward she is in such scenes, and usually tries to make a break for it.
In honesty, she's actually pretty nice, though you'd never guess. Deep down, she's just a small child, trying desperately to gain a close friend. That's probably why she's more than accepting of necromancy. I mean, hey, raising your own friends from the dead, they'll do whatever you ask and they have their own consciousness. Though not even she really knows that.

Appearance Notes: Her eyes will occasionally change with the weather, all based on humidity of course. At usual, they’re a somewhat dark, dull blue. They change to an arctic-grey when it rains, more silver if it snows, and a bright resilient turquoise if it’s extremely sunny, etc.
She also has a small bell or feather somewhere on her person at all times. It’s just something soothing and steadfast for her.

ImageCapabilities
Bloodline Gift: True Magic. Sinry specializes in the section of necromancy. Though, she only has a few notions on how it works, as well as a couple encounters with it, her discovery being actually pretty comical. Surprisingly, she actually quite likes the fact that one day she might be able to actually resurrect zombies and skeletons. It’s just something she’s striving for, and also thinks it suits her quite brilliantly.
Bloodline Weakness: Draconic Arrogance. Soren has two temperamental issues, her main bloodline weakness being chronic bouts of depression, and the other isolation.

Other Skills:
Sinry is a bloody ninja when it comes to duct tape. She can make literally almost anything with the stuff. She used youtube in order to learn the basics, and can occasionally be seen with a huge roll in one hand and something amazing in the other.“If you ever get stuck in the woods, but have the choice of any item, always go with duct tape. You’ll survive no problem.”

She also has an acquired skill, which is how fast she can read a book. She can read at least 1,050 words per minute when she’s not doing it for enjoyment. “Sure, it may not seem like much, but just wait until it saves your sorry butt.”

Curiously, she also has a natural knack for the piano, not that she's professional in it, she just knows where to put her fingers, and basically teaches herself in her free time. She mimics songs by ear, after practice and deducing notes of course. She doesn't play often, and when she does, it's only when she's alone or concealed by herself. It's something that brings her out of her depression a bit.


Biography
Sinry’s mother died in childbirth, and she had to live with her father alone for five years. It was extremely difficult to live off of his paycheck, and she did her absolute best to be a good child, but alas, it was for naught. Her father died in a car accident, and she had to go through a whole mess of court work for her adoption. She ended up getting stuck with her second Aunt and Uncle. Neither were very pleasant people.

Her uncle was like a dictator, and her aunt might as well have been a dog for all the good she was worth in the situation.

Age nine she locked herself in a closet for two days without food or water, almost completely unresponsive to anything. Afterwards, she required serious medical attention, and no one, not even herself, knew why she did it. Image

At the age of eleven, she was given a Bichir fish for her birthday, which was probably the only gift she’s ever received, one because her father and she were so poor, and two because her uncle was a devil spawn. It was her aunt who had talked him into it, and because she was fairly good that year. Rena loved that fish like it was her life support, her drug, her love, etc. She named it Tictac, and he lived a good few years.

However, at age fifteen, the fish died, and Sinry was absolutely mortified beyond belief. Neither of her guardians knew that the precious thing had died, and she knew what to do with dead fish. So she solemnly took the fishes body from the tank and ceremoniously made a slow march towards the bathroom. As she placed the fish gently in the toilet, as was respect in her eyes, she pressed down on the handle, and watched as the waters began to swirl and recede. There was a spark of pain through her fingers, and she winced, her eyes shutting. However, what she didn’t expect was the fish to flip back over and begin to swim when she opened them again. She was so shocked she almost didn’t do anything about it. But then she went into action.

Soren made a dive into the toilet, grabbing desperately for the fish. The whole incident ended with her walking down the steps, Tictac cupped in hand (with a pool of water, of course), hair completely soaked with toilet water, shirt baggy and sticking to her skin, and a confused yet joyful expression on her face when she presented the fish to her Aunt. Not in the least was her aunt calm. First of all, she was utterly confused as to why she was so sopping wet, second why she was holding her fish, third why she smelled so strange, and fourth what she thought she was doing.

Without much thought, her Aunt allowed her to keep the fish still, but oddly enough, Tictac’s spines were gradually turning milky white, much like bones, and then they actually became bones. Luckily that was the only thing that changed with her fish, and Sinry found it pretty cool, it was like having a zombie fish.
However, something very curious was happening to her uncle during the change in her fish. His health was seriously diminishing, until one day, he died. And when he died, the Bichir’s spines finished their transformation. She wasn’t sad in the least bit her uncle was out of the picture.

The fish was definitely her only friend for a long while, when word got out in her school about the fish, people started picking on her and also avoiding her, but she was totally fine with it. She didn’t like any of the kids there anyway.

At sixteen, she learned that she could talk to ghosts. As a small child, she always believed in them, and when it became truth that they really did exist, she was both terrified and amazed. Now, she couldn’t really understand them at all, but she could tell they responded very eagerly to her words. She only ran into two, but it was enough.

By the age of seventeen, her Guardian finally found her. (Finally because, Soren being of Evincal decent, took a while to locate.) Arietta Fife, one of her own… bloodline apparently, came to her house one day asking for her. Of course this was a strange occurrence for Sinry, as she was never called on by anyone. It was one week to her eighteenth birthday as well. When she was told she had the gift of necromancy, she wasn’t really surprised at all, and was more than eager to pack her things to go to this ‘Isle’ and start he training. Of course she was going to bring Tictac in order to learn more about his new necrofied self.

She’s been at the Isle for about two months, and takes to her dorm immensely. Her main spots are the Ghostyard, the library, and the forests. She doesn’t talk to a lot of people, and mainly sees herself here for studying and learning, not making friends. Thus being said, she’s a little antisocial, and doesn’t know how to make friends really.

Usually she has a fishbowl with her, Tictac always in tow. She seems to do better when he’s around, though he has a fairly large sized fishtank in her dorm. Also by now, Sinry knows that she was the one who killed her Uncle, but really couldn't care less. In fact, she'd trade him over a thousand times if it came to Tictac. No questions asked.

As mentioned before, she doesn't have many friends because she never learned how to make them, so in all honesty, the friends that are always available, and thus her closest/only buds are Tictac, and the undead/ghosts of the Ghostyard. That being said, Sinry is gaining a way better understanding of their speech from being around them so often, and is usually out and about doing them favors in subconscious attempts to please, which has just been ground into the very fiber of her being, making her want to be accepted.

Theme.

Tictac
Species: Fish; Bichir.

Appearance:
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Special trait(s): Large skeletonized spines on back.

Equipment

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So begins...

Soren Corosa's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Aaron Highmore Character Portrait: Hazel Ebony Highlynn Character Portrait: Renn Elliot Character Portrait: Seph Winterfoot Character Portrait: Nila Loriette Pearce Character Portrait: Erin Silver Alier Character Portrait: Daniel Sanderson Character Portrait: Artemis Hulston Character Portrait: Darcy Lilith Ratri Character Portrait: Ferne Baumiller Character Portrait: Omar Maria Media Character Portrait: Wynston Watson Character Portrait: Tally Roawn Character Portrait: Soren Corosa Character Portrait: Vendicare Character Portrait: Drusa Deszled Character Portrait: Markus Wright Character Portrait: Graham Lennox Character Portrait: Elvis Johnson Character Portrait: Xylea Parihan Character Portrait: Milo Reed Corner Character Portrait: Tabitha Ezerath

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#, as written by throne
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Chapter 1 - Convocation


When the call went out , the sun had just begun its final descent for the evening, dipping partway under the horizon and splashing bands of red, orange and then finally violet across the sky. It had been a warm day, though not uncomfortably so, the first untouched by a series of careless thunderstorms that had darkened The Isle for days. To their chagrin, the charges who had largely been trapped indoors for days had been instructed that morning to remain close to The Compound that had become their home. There had been no lessons today, nothing formal, at least.

Arietta had secluded herself away in the library, taking over an entire table with a score of books. Anyone passing through wouldn’t even draw her attention as she flipped through pages, referencing and cross-referencing several tomes at once. She was making notes in a mixture of Greek and Hebrew, the characters so small that they were barely legible, and still she’d managed to fill three pages by midafternoon.

Simon was not his eminently approachable self. He’d apparently traded out his usual easy jocularity for surliness to rival Matthew’s, and spent most of the day hiding out in the small office where he held his confidential sessions. The Balaren Guardian was as solemn as ever, and shortly after dinner (which none of the Guardians had been present for), he enlisted Fleet and any charges willing to assist him in transporting quite a bit of firewood from the stores to the center of the courtyard, where he proceeded to build what looked to be the beginnings of a massive bonfire, neatly stacking the wood like Lincoln Logs until the resulting cube-like structure was nearly as tall as he was. He was characteristically laconic, only speaking to explain the need for proper draft if the fire was to burn all night, and other such survivalist tidbits.

Only Michaela was unaccounted for. Normally, she popped up periodically throughout the day, but she’d presumably consigned herself to the former officer’s quarters that the Guardians used for their more-and-more frequent, at least of late, meetings.

It had been a strange year by The Isle’s standards, though precious few of the current charges would understand that completely. In the past month alone, more than a half-dozen young men and women who had Awakened to their Bloodline had appeared. Most of them would have at least an idea of the fact that a half-dozen was a large number of charges for The Compound. All told, they numbered more than a score now, a fact which the Evincal would likely feel resonant with portent.

The instant that work on the tower of wood was complete, Fleet whipped his head about to regard Matthew with wide eyes. ”Is it time?!” he asked, his excitement even more vibrant than his usual insane baseline. Matthew merely nodded, and anyone in the immediate vicinity would be buffeted by a blast of breeze as the Wind-Born Navarene seemingly vanished. Most would be by now aware of his ability to become wind, rather than merely affect or create it, and in the form of a zephyr, Fleet raced throughout the grounds to give the call.

”Meeting in the courtyard!” He manifested physically for only just long enough to deliver his message before zipping off to find another young man or woman to inform. He scoured The Compound and the area surrounding it, stirring up leaves and dust in his wake as he flitted about, appearing before groups who had come together to talk, in dorm rooms, in the common area, even in the library and everywhere in between. ”Meeting in the courtyard! Meeting in the courtyard! Meeting in the courtyard!” He didn’t stop until every last soul on the island was aware of the convocation that would soon take place.

By the time the charges had begun filtering into the courtyard, the Guardians had all assembled save for Michaela. Arietta, looking as weary as ever, was seated in the lotus position with her eyes closed, not far from the pyre that Matthew had constructed. Fleet reappeared, frowning when he realized that he’d somehow lost his favored white fedora in his rapid fit of transformation and exclamation. Matthew was leaning to the left of The Compound’s main entrance, his arms crossed over his chest and his features blank. Simon had emerged from his office, and was currently pacing back and forth in front of the officer’s quarters, his agitation more than evident in the form of some low-toned self-muttering.

It was only after each and every one of the young men and women had gathered about the courtyard that Michaela emerged from the officers’ quarters. A simple white cotton dress draped her form, and her bright smile was a beacon of reassurance. She maintained it even when Simon bee-lined for her, and stopped to engage in a terse conversation with him. Their words would go unheard, but there was no mistaking that the exchange was anything but pleasant, if only for the fact that the air around them began to show ripples, reflecting the Omarain Guardian’s agitation in visual form. It was concluded quickly enough. Simon’s expression was even bleaker as he stalked off to lean beside Matthew, who was carefully avoiding making eye contact with the Mori.

Michaela drew a single breath, and in that span regained her composure utterly. The distortions surrounding her ironed themselves out, replaced by a warm aura of soft white light. As she walked directly toward the pyre, illusory flowers, poppies in white and crème and egg-shell sprung up in her wake, creating a path behind her. The trail of flowers followed her, then pooled out around her when she came to a stop, as if she had simply come to stand in the center of a thick patch of them.

”Everyone, gather ‘round please.” She was too dignified to shout, but her voice carried remarkably, reaching every ear and tugging at every mind. It was little more than a simple request, but it was difficult to deny. Arietta tried to catch her eye, and when she did, Michaela shook her head succinctly. The Evincal Guardian just nodded a tired nod and closed her eyes, remaining completely still upon the ground.

”This won’t take very long at all,” she explained, panning her gaze to draw in each of them, address each of them. ”I know you’re all probably wondering why you’re here, in this courtyard, but more than that, why you’re here. On The Isle. With everyone finally settled in, it’s high time that you learn the purpose of this place, one of the world’s last bastions of magic, and your purpose in this place.” She was a perfect admixture of solemnity and wisdom as she began her speech, but she dazzled them with a vibrant grin. ”I also have a surprise for all of you, but that will have to wait till after the end of the story.”



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The faerie prince was uncharacteristically alone when the messenger arrived.

Aaron did not normally seek out solitude. Generally, he fled it. He was seldom in his room, save to sleep, change his clothes, and shower, but when he was simply there, he tended to leave his door open, a standing invitation to all the courtiers who had reason to petition him (there had never been an actual petition, of course, but he eagerly awaited the day that the first of many came). Tonight, though, the door stood closed and even locked. His endeavor was a private one, and distractions were the mortal foes of such work- foes that the faerie prince had no defense against save for seclusion.

He’d been at it since just after dinner, though not to great success. The idea, like most of his, had sprung fully formed but elusive from his mind, and he was having difficulty getting his mental hands upon it now that it was free. He already had pen and paper, used for sending missives to his family, which was all he truly needed for the task at hand: to begin to commit to ink on paper the story of the faerie prince. His story.

It was proving a challenge that might ironically be termed princely. Words came easily to him, when speaking, but catching them with the nib of a pen and then sticking them fast to paper was proving an entirely different matter. Thus far, he’d managed after three attempts to arrive at a working title (the appropriate but not particularly inspired Tales of The Faerie Prince), and nothing else worth keeping. He’d tried speaking aloud, saying words and then writing them down afterwards in effort hopes of fooling the fickle Muses into helping him. They were apparently cannier than he’d suspected. He’d tried making lists with bullet points to organize his thoughts, but his thoughts were not made for such a static, rigid template. From the small graveyard of balled up sheets that were now scattered about the floor around and beneath his desk, an observer might have thought him in the midst of penning a novel full, but fortunately, there were no observers to bear witness to the fitful process.

At least, there weren’t until Fleet arrived. His gusty entrance sent the crumpled pages skittering, and Aaron had to lunge, using his forearm to trap the almost-empty expanse of white paper that he’d been staring at intently for the past ten minutes while thinking instead of what Graham might be up to, or if Renn was busy with Erin, or if Milo would like the title he’d come up with, or… well, of anything but the task at hand, really, in order to keep it from flying away from him. Startled and embarrassed (though he’d never admit the latter), he wheeled around in his seat (literally, it had wheels) to face the intruder.

”Meeting in the courtyard!” He heard the call before he saw the speaker.

His wroth fled when he noted it was Fleet. The Navarene Guardian never failed to bring a bright grin to Aaron’s full lips. Lifting a hand to brush down a bit of fitfulness that his spun-gold hair seemed to have engaged in thanks to the miniature localized windstorm that was Fleet, he relaxed in his seat and regarded the man. ”How now, spirit? Whither wander you?” His voice rang out like music, the first part of an exchange that he never failed to encourage. The words had come to mind immediately when he’d first met Fleet, and like most of the words that came into his mind, they had exited soon thereafter through his mouth. Fleet had been confused, but after a few encounters, had begun to respond, creating something of an inside joke between the two that the elemental didn’t quite comprehend but enjoyed nevertheless.

”Sorry Aaron, very busy. Something about a girdle! Gotta go!” With that he was gone, and this time, a somewhat dejected Aaron was unable to stop the first page of his great work from sailing from his desk to under his bed. A meeting, in the courtyard? Only in the messenger’s absence did he process the message. Such an event wasn’t unprecedented, but neither then was it ordinary. Aaron’s affinity for all things out of ordinary abolished his frustrations with the Muses from his mind. He hopped to his feet, arching his back in feline fashion to stretch. He glimpsed himself in the glass (he’d read a story that had referred to mirrors as glasses, which had initially confused him, but now he’d adopted the terminology into his increasingly archaic vocabulary) to ascertain that he was ready for a public appearance.

He was already wearing his favorite shirt, one that he’d found in the cache of spare clothing (a simple white linen peasant’s shirt with billowing sleeves and a plunging neckline that showed off a great deal of his pale chest), along with a pair of breeches (really, they were simple dark khakis, but he rolled the legs up to his mid-calves and insisted they were breeches). He waxed and waned on wearing shoes and decided that he’d prefer his feet bare. The sound of them slapping the concrete floor of the hallway that led out of the dorm area in a rapid rhythm would announce the faerie prince’s timely departure. It wasn’t quite a run, or a skip, or a dance, but something that sat fixed squarely between the three, as playful, impatient, and amusing to watch as Aaron himself.

He was among the last to arrive, which only meant that he didn’t have time to sort out who he meant to stand with around the bonfire. His violet eyes flitted about, evaluating the prospects, and he started towards Renn, eager to see if the Earth-Born might know what was going on.

”Everyone, gather ‘round, please.”

Michaela’s voice drew his attention to her immediately, in a way that her mastery of illusion never could. The boy was as susceptible to Glamour as anyone, maybe even moreso, and a smile scrawled itself across his features as he simply stopped moving, standing in place to listen. His eyes lit up and did a rather remarkable saucer impression at the revelation that followed her introduction: a story AND a surprise. There were few things that Aaron enjoyed more than either, and he was hard-pressed to decide which he preferred (never mind that he had no idea what the surprise was). Fortunately, he needn’t decide at all; he was getting both!

With story-time looming, he assumed his favorite position for tale-telling; he lowered himself with aplomb into an “Indian” style of sitting, his legs folded up above and beneath one another, and then balanced his elbows on his knees and his chin in his palms, leaning forward in a show of eagerness for what was to come.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Aaron Highmore Character Portrait: Seph Winterfoot Character Portrait: Soren Corosa

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Seph was always a little astounded by how many books were in the library.

She walked slowly up one of the aisles, running a finger along the spines of the books. Sonja had never had anything that could have been called a library, back at her big house in Anchorage. She did have this one bookcase, and it was filled top to bottom with all sorts of old things, but just the first floor of this library could fit hundreds of those! Seph had heard that there were much bigger ones in other places of the world, but she still felt that this place was impressive. That said, Seph didn't much feel like reading at the moment. She'd already read a good amount today, and whenever she read something, she undoubtedly had a hundred questions afterwards. It got a little tiring at some point. She was absorbing knowledge so quickly, but there was only so much she could absorb in a day.

Still, she much preferred reading to what some of her fellow Balaren did with their time. They loved their wolf forms, loved to spend time in the wild, be the princes of the forest that they were. Maybe it made sense, though. All of them desired to be that which they were not.

Seph let her mind wander. What are we going to do tomorrow? Would any of these books make a good gift for anyone? No, of course not, they're not even yours to give. Aaron's a wonderful dancer. I wonder if he'd teach me sometime? No, I'm not nearly as graceful as he is. He wasn't born with four legs, and then forced to learn to walk on two. But still, maybe he could teach me something. Where is Sinry? She had come here for Sinry, so she could see how she was doing. She did that a lot, since Sinry seemed so much more comfortable around her than most of the others. It also made Seph feel more comfortable. The knowledge that she could help people, and not the other way around, was very reassuring.

Maybe she was on the second level. It was supposed to be for the Evincal charges, so Seph didn't usually go up there. "Sinry?" she called out softly. It was always so quiet in here, she hated making too much noise.


The Cloistered Witch


No, no, no, no... nada. Nope, not there either. Oh wait-... nope. With her chin in her hand, Soren was sitting at a small desk by herself up in the Evincal level of the library, and her little area was hidden behind a few bookcases. Open before her were at least three different books, and several others that were closed, and clearly a bit ruffled, at the edges of the table.

The necromancer was poring over the book immediately in front of her, the pages a bit weathered and a relaxing shade of silvery yellow. In her other hand was a slate grey mechanical pencil which she was tapping against her cheek in immersed thought. There were clear signs that she had been in the library for quite a few hours, and the girl allowed a small yawn to escape her lips, pausing her pencil action and taking two seconds to rub her eyes before resuming it.

However, she jumped a bit, hearing a faint noise that sounded all too much like a voice, but somewhat far away. And Sinry thought she had caught a bit of her name. Her pencil had dropped from her hand, and began rolling towards the stairs. "Oh shoot." She muttered very quietly, quickly getting up to chase after it before she remembered the very important book she had just been leafing through.

Sinry turned back quickly, leaning over the table and snatching the book up into her arms, quickly scurrying towards the stairs and racing down after her pencil, which, by now, had made it down a couple of the stairs. She was constantly dropping the writing utensils, and knew all too well how they seemingly disappeared into Narnia, showing up again in the strangest places if she was even lucky enough to find them in the first place.

Her eyes locked onto the small object, and she realized, much to her horror, that it was heading straight for a crack in the flooring. It was her favorite pencil, so she wasn't just about to let it go without a fight, so she picked up her pace. However, what Soren didn't intend was her shoe tip to get stuck on the flat of her step as she made a misstep, tripping forward and the book going flying out of her hands.

She remained fairly silent other than a gasp as she plummeted, hitting a few of the stairs on the way down before coming to a stop right in front of Seph. Quickly, Sinry reached out, catching the slow moving pencil before it could disappear into the darkness of wherever that bloody hole went.

The Evincal had successfully skinned up her knees a bit, being as she was wearing cargo shorts, and she looked up at Seph with a comically dazed, though small smile. The book had flipped open and was currently sliding across the floor. It then hit the side of a bookshelf and ceased in its motion.



The wolfborn girl gaped in absolute horror as one of her best friends went crashing down the stairs. Her book went sliding across the floor, and Sinry had somehow managed to recapture her pencil even despite falling down the stairs, but Seph wasn't concerned about that in the slightest. She was supposed to be the one who occasionally forgot how to walk around, not Sinry.

"Oh no," she said worriedly, quickly moving to Sinry's side and helping her get up. "That was my fault, wasn't it? I scared you, and then made you fall down the stairs, didn't I? I am so, so sorry!"

When she was back on her feet, Seph hurried to grab the book that had slid away, and bring it back to her. She didn't bother to look at what it was or anything. Probably something to do with her necromancy. Seph wasn't bothered by Sinry's power like some of the other people were. She didn't know why... it just didn't really creep her out like it did for some of the others.

After returning the book to her, Seph carefully examined her. Other than the skinned knees, she looked fine. Maybe just a little flustered. "You're alright, aren't you? I didn't mean to scare you or anything. You know I wouldn't try to do that." That was quite true. Seph hated being scared or startled, and didn't think it would be any fun, unlike some of the charges here.



Sinry looked up at one of her closest friends, quickly picking herself up off of the ground and into a sitting position, rubbing her head with a tiny sheepish smile. "No... that's alright. It wasn't you who made me dive off of the stairs like a crazy person. But no, you didn't scare me, I just didn't expect you to be in the library. I mean... well, I mean that, I don't really expect anyone to come calling on me, y'know? So I was surprised by that aspect."

She then leaned forward, examining her knees carefully, poking at the skin softly. "This is alright too, I think. I can use it too in some of my training, so you didn't do too bad there either. Eventually I'd have to draw some of my own blood, and it's always really weird when you do it to yourself, if that makes sense."

Soren tilted her head back up, watching as the Balaren scurried to recover her book, keeping it somewhat open on that page. Meanwhile, Sinry replaced the pencil to the safety of her shirt pocket. She put one hand on her kneecap, the other reaching up for the precious book. As she lowered it to herself and briefly scanned over the page, she looked back up to her friend, about to say something else when her attention snapped back to the page.

Underlining the words with her finger as she quickly read over it, she brought the hand that was previously on her knee up in the air, snapping her fingers together. "That's where the little bugger was hiding!" She met Seph's eyes, a shy grin on her face. "I'm really fine. I've catapulted myself off of worse after these bloody pencils." Once more her gaze flickered down to the pencil, her lower lip sucked in a bit and her eyes dilated from the somewhat dimmer lighting in the building.

"Anyway, I was looking for this all morning." Sinry turned the book around, pointing to the picture of a wisp. "These are relatively rare, but they do live on the island. I need it for my training, but I didn't know any of its stats or where it resided. But now, thanks to you, I got the information I needed. I'm going to start hunting these as soon as possible." She gave a fractional nod of her head, resolute in what she wanted to do for the day.



Seph still couldn't help but feel bad. Scared, surprised... what was the difference again? Either way, she'd come into the library, and then poor Sinry had taken a tumble down the stairs. But... all things considered, it didn't seem to have worked out too poorly. Sinry was alright. Apparently it would help some in her training? Seph didn't really understand, but of course, she wasn't an Evincal, she was a wolfborn Balaren. Her ability was to become a human. Looking at it that way, pretty much every moment of every day was training her ability.

And apparently Seph had helped her somehow? She'd helped her find something. Huh. Seph looked at the picture of the wisp that Sinry was pointing to with interest. And Sinry was going to go hunting for them? "I could help you with that, if you wanted," she began, before quickly deciding to backtrack. "Actually, I've never been much good at hunting anything. I might just end up scaring them away." She thought for a moment. "Unless... maybe I could help you more as a wolf? I'd be quicker that way, and I could smell and hear better."

Seph could already smell and hear better than most everyone, being wolfborn, but in her natural wolf form, it was even moreso. And while she was telling the truth about being a poor hunter, that was relative to the other wolves. She was still likely quicker than most of the others when she was a wolf. That said, she really had no idea what hunting wisps entailed, and was more interested in just helping Sinry, to make herself feel better for causing her to fall down the stairs.

Before either of them could say anything more, however, there was a gust of wind. Seph instinctively tensed as Fleet blew into the library, shouted at the top of his lungs about the meeting in the courtyard, and then vanished. Cringing, Seph slowly relaxed before fixing the hair that Fleet had blown around. The wind born Navarene always startled her when he whipped around on the air like that.

"I hate it when he does that," she remarked to Sinry. She quite liked Fleet, of course, and found him very enjoyable to be around, but that particular trick tended to sneak up on her. "We should probably go." Seph led the way from the library, and to the courtyard, where a few of the charges had already gathered. When Aaron arrived, she happily plopped down beside him, giving him a warm smile in greeting. She too was quite interested in whatever Michaela had to say, as she felt that the woman was speaking directly to her when she said 'your purpose'. Purpose had been something Seph struggled to find since discovering her human form, and while she had certainly made some amazing friends since arriving on the Isle, she felt no closer to finding a place in the world, something that she could do with her life.

But perhaps small steps were still in order. Learning how to better function as a person would probably be a good first step.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Seph Winterfoot Character Portrait: Daniel Sanderson Character Portrait: Soren Corosa

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The Conflicted Knight


He was standing in an ancient prison, fire and brimstone falling all around him. Looking down, he could see the fiery red armor that coated his form, the claws of his gauntlets clinking ominously against his palm. He had twin curved blades, both almost as large as he was tall strapped to his back. All around him were charred corpses, everyone on the Isle that he called home for the past year dead at his feet. Looking up, he saw the viscious form of his ancestor, the giant demon clad in ebon armor wielding a massive broadsword with one hand, a ball of hellfire in the other.

Then Daniel woke up. He wiped his brow with the nearby towel that he had before he looked down at the small pile of ashes in the corner of his room. "Well, there went my good shirt." He commented idly before moving about his room to tidy up after his nightmare fit. Taking a break to look outside, Daniel ran a hand through his unkempt hair. He hated how his blood sometimes reacted in his dreams, and he always wondered just what he was doing in that armor with the weapons. He knew the demon though, oh yes. That was his ancestor, the demon that gave his family the bloodline he now possessed. Daniel was certain that it was the work of his ancestor, trying to influence him in his sleep. However, just what the extent of his dreams contained, or what happened in them, was something that he didn't know.

"Meeting in the Courtyard!" On instinct, Daniel's eyes faded to black as a dagger of hellfire was hurled in the direction of the voice. Still on edge, he didn't calm until he saw the brief visage of the one that just yelled practically in his ear. Fleet, I thought you learned when I almost hit you last time... Sighing exasperatedly, Daniel just sat on his bed and stared at the wall for a few minutes. Finally deciding to get moving, he slapped himself before tugging on a pair of shoes and a loose shirt with slacks. Walking out of his room, he yawned before closing his door and moving on towards the appointed meeting spot. He didn't even notice the scorch mark on the wall outside of his room from where the dagger hit.

Wandering into the Courtyard, he put a smile on his face and politely greeted everyone he met on his way to find a spot to relax. Spotting Seph, he grinned and made his way over to her. He rather liked the young wolf-turned-human girl, and made it his goal to look out for her and make sure she was ok. Flopping down on the ground next to her, he grinned as he spoke. "Hey there Seph! How've you been?" He gave Soren a smile and a nod, but otherwise didn't say much else. He listened intently as Seph spoke before he saw their Guardians up on the stage.

It seems Simon and Michalea are having an argument... The young Mori mused to himself as he watched it all take place. Then Michalea began to speak, and Daniel decided it would be a good idea to sit down and listen to her. After all, the woman was one of the people that saved him from his fears when he first arrived, being one of the first arrivals to the Isle to begin with. So sitting there, watching the Omarian give off her allure, he just merely wondered what she was up to, his scientific mind automatically picking apart her power again. Trying to charm her way into all of their hearts and minds? That's not something that usually leads to promising news.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Renn Elliot Character Portrait: Seph Winterfoot Character Portrait: Erin Silver Alier Character Portrait: Daniel Sanderson Character Portrait: Soren Corosa Character Portrait: Markus Wright

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#, as written by Mela
The Woman Trapped In Ice


The darker gray colour connected with the slightly brighter one, gradually creating shadows on her painting. It had yet to take up a specific shape or even idea. Erin usually let her fingers do the walking and watched as a dark, yet beautiful image came to life on her canvas. Her breathing had finally evened itself out, now moving in a steady, controlled rhythm. Her face was expressionless, her eyes emerald and almost glowing in the darkness of her room. She had the curtains drawn, and only a little lamp on her desk was illuminating the room. She preferred it that way… today at least; keeping herself secluded and distant from everyone around her. Too much light brought the uneasiness back. So far she had spent three hours fighting the dark part of her so furiously shouting for her to let it go, clawing at her control. She closed her eyes briefly, a gust of air leaving her lips, which currently were painted dark red. It was just one of those days. The horrible, dark days. Days where she stayed away from Daniel in particular, but also even Renn. The two men were getting close and she knew that they were the reason her inner darkness was so eager to take over. She could feel its need to kill them; to remove them as the obstacles they were.

As it was, Erin had woken up, drenched in sweat after a dark, bloody nightmare. She had, as usual, been standing by that huge fall of fire, hearing cries from the other side of his; cries for help. They needed her to release them, begged her to take away their pain. They were demons, she knew that, and she had grown to stop caring about the screams. Of course the young woman had never been one for empathy, but they had still touched her at first. The fire wasn’t unusual, but the black-eyed copy of herself next to her was – she only came when Erin began caring about someone again. It was a warning. She opened her eyes, glancing at the tiny lamp. That little ray of light. Her lips quirked up into a wry smile as she thought of the irony – turn off that light and you’re left in complete darkness; that bit of light was really all Erin had left. If these people died, so would her last bit of light and she’d be swallowed by the darkness. She took a deep breath, glancing at the black kitten half-sleeping on her bed. “Maybe I should just give in,” she mused, looking at the kitten. Irayah lifted her head lazily, her words sounding so clearly in Erin’s head, ”that’s what I keep telling you.” She was exasperated, and Erin frowned at her, wondering for the hundredth time why she still kept the damn thing around.

Then she shook her head, about to return to her painting when Irayah cried out, a loud sound, startling the female Mori. She wheeled around, sighing when she caught sight of Fleet. That’s all she did though before the Navarene had disappeared again, his words only just having reached her ears. She turned her eye towards the roof, almost as if praying for divine intervention. Of course, however, she would never do that. She didn’t really have an appreciation for religion, for obvious reasons. Irayah had moved into a standing position on the bed, ”Are you going then?” She asked, her voice a little eager. Oh yes, she sociable demon kitten. How quaint. Erin glanced at the cat before taking a look at herself in the mirror, making a face. “I don’t think I have much of a choice, you know.” She couldn’t quite keep the irritation out of her voice. She shook her head; she was only wearing a long, white paint-splattered shirt over a pair of old jeans. She wasn’t going out in that. It didn’t bother her that others saw her in it, but she didn’t walk outside her room in it. Just a weird quirk, she supposed. The kitten snorted. ”If you walk out there sulking like that, pretty boy’s going to approach you, and you know it.”

She glared at the demon and her nickname for Daniel, before quickly dressing in this. She shook her head, letting her hair fall free as usual, her panda-eyes in place along with the dark red gloss on her lips. She looked at the demon kitten. “Are you coming, or do you have more to comment on?” The black creature jumped onto her shoulder, getting comfortable. ”You look like a mean slut,” she then said, an appraising tone in her voice. Only Irayah would ever consider that a compliment. Erin rolled her eyes and for the first time today, ventured outside. She blinked at the light, but soon got used to the brightness. What did these people want from her this time? Meeting in the courtyard. She was beginning to wonder what it was about, pondering in her mind silently while her heels clicked on the floors of the compound on her way to the courtyard, her plan clear in her mind. 1: go to the courtyard to see what the guardians want, 2: go back to her own room to sulk some more, 3: argue with Irayah about the attention she was sure to procure herself today, and finally, 4: go to bed and forget about this entire, horrid day.

The blonde made it outside, wincing inside at the sight of the many people gathered. She’d known she’d be late, but then again… she always was. Fortunately nothing seemed to have happened yet. Her face impassive, her eyes cold and distant, Erin made her way down to the back of the crowd, away from anyone who might approach her when she wanted solitude. Then again… Graham or Markus might just calm down the clawing her darkness was currently doing. Sometimes she wanted to scream at it to leave her alone. Speaking of Markus, there he was. Her eyes grazed him for a second before leaving him again. Such an odd thing, this pull she felt towards him – she knew it was due to the darkness, but it was still incredibly irritating. She stood by herself, not really looking at anyone, yet looking everywhere - noticing Daniel by Seph and Sinry, something that calmed her a little, knowing he had no time to notice her -, with her characteristic seemingly innocent black kitten on her shoulder. For once the thing remained quiet. Both their heads snapped up when Michaela spoke, however. Erin frowned, feeling Irayah’s unease. The demon didn’t like light magic. In fact, she only held any love for Mori magic. Demon pride and all.

Both demon and owner stood still, listening to the guardian’s words. Erin rolled her eyes. Great. It seemed she’d have to spend an awful lot of time here, when all she wanted to do was leave. Stories and surprises? None of these things could be said to be Erin’s favorites, in any way. She noticed others wore eager expressions and she sighed softly. These things were the reasons she sometimes just wanted to leave the Isle. These amazingly long, incredibly boring gatherings and the fact that some people actually liked them. Maybe her mood was just sour, or maybe she actually did despise these things. Really, she didn’t ponder it mainly because she didn’t care. Right now she thought what she did, and it wasn’t going to change. Still expressionless, however, the Mori watched the guardians, kitten on her shoulder a little tense. She didn’t like it when Irayah grew tense; the demon had an almost uncanny intuition.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Aaron Highmore Character Portrait: Hazel Ebony Highlynn Character Portrait: Renn Elliot Character Portrait: Seph Winterfoot Character Portrait: Daniel Sanderson Character Portrait: Darcy Lilith Ratri Character Portrait: Soren Corosa Character Portrait: Graham Lennox Character Portrait: Milo Reed Corner

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#, as written by Nori
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Audibly expressing his boredom through a variety of melodramatic grunts, sighs, and groans, Graham lay sprawled out on the floor of his room, stretching and curling his fingers absently towards the faint glow of the light twirling overhead...Reduced to playing with fragments of light...surely at some point, he must have slipped from moderately bored to completely out of his mind with tedium, there was no other practical explanation for such otherwise. Another deep sigh to add to the rooms growing collection of such, and Graham lazily rolled into a sitting position, chin resting on his hand as he contemplated what he could possibly do, yet again

Under normal circumstances, he'd probably go seek out Aaron, but the boy had wanted to be left to his own devices for the night and there seemed little point to bother him--most things done alone tended towards the dull-er side of things, anyways. His usual back-up plans of Seph and Soren had fallen through as well, both having disappeared off to who knows where, probably the library or some likewise monotonous location he was likely to never enter. There wasn't any senseless flattery to be reaped from Hazel, she'd likewise disappeared before he'd even awoken--halfway into the day, of course, practically nocturnal as he was. The frigid Mori girl had shut herself off from all and any this fine afternoon, sealed away in her cave of a room painting or some trite--monopolizing that adorable kitten of hers all to herself, the audacity! Last he'd seen him, Milo had been napping quite peacefully all day and far be it from Graham to disturb a man's rest, he had some standards. The glorious Vendi had taken to carrying lumber on behalf of the moody old wolf, which had proved a show in itself up until the point he had to follow to keep watching; far, far too much effort for it to be worth it by then, so he too was not a viable distraction. Even Graham's own dashing counterpart, Markus, was hardly viable entertainment as of the moment, prancing about as he was, doing exercise, ugh, no way would the lazed Graham ever partake of such activities--watch for a bit, to admire the sheen of sweat on muscle and all, sure, but actually exercise just for the sake of it, that was sheer madness!...and really, really boring, ugh, not to mention the smell, how distasteful.

Essentially everyone, who mattered to Graham at least, was indisposed in some form or another and so still he remained, horribly, terribly bored, lounging on the floor with absolutely nothing to do. It wasn't even like he could go explore the isle himself either, not because he felt some responsibility to obey the whims of the Guardians, but rather as he was sure there had to be something interesting happening today for everyone to be making such a hassle--he was waiting for the show. A show he was sure to not miss, even if he would have to endure an hour of mind-numbing, agonizing monotony until then. Again, a dramatic sigh, and again Graham plops down forcefully on the ground beneath him to twirl his fingers 'round the specks of light. If something didn't happen soon, he was going to burst, he was sure of it, little bits of Graham Confetti everywhere and anywhere...it'd be a hassle to clean up, at the very least.

It was then, as though the forces that be realized the danger a ridiculously bored Graham would present to the fabric of reality--or just by chance, that Fleet made his way into the previously locked chambers of Graham. "Meeting in the Courtyard!" the Navarene called once and then was gone, leaving a furiously blinking Graham in his wake to ponder how exactly he'd gone about opening the doors...Eh, oh well, probably best to not fret over such things, 'twas what news he was after anyways. With a speed uncharacteristic of the normally fairly languid Graham, he lunged from his sprawled position on the floor, in one fluid motion back on his feet and already on his way out the door. What little piqued the interest of Graham really did so, as his practical giddy prance down the corridors of the compound would attest.

In little to no time, he'd emerged in the courtyard where most had already by then gathered, scanning for the familiar faces of those previously preoccupied with painfully dull happenings, before spotting his preferred targets company; Aaron, Soren, Seph, Hazel, Milo, and even lame little Daniel--he'd tolerate Ren's being there, figuring the male to be as impassive and silent as usual 'round him and Darcy hardly even registered as being there at all in his mind. Trotting his way over, Graham made one gesture to the group, half peace-sign half-wave, took the spot directly in front of Aaron, and for the umpteenth time that day plopped onto the floor, and sprawled, reclining on his elbows just tall enough to catch sight of the show imminent to unfold.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Aaron Highmore Character Portrait: Hazel Ebony Highlynn Character Portrait: Renn Elliot Character Portrait: Seph Winterfoot Character Portrait: Nila Loriette Pearce Character Portrait: Erin Silver Alier Character Portrait: Daniel Sanderson Character Portrait: Artemis Hulston Character Portrait: Darcy Lilith Ratri Character Portrait: Omar Maria Media Character Portrait: Wynston Watson Character Portrait: Tally Roawn Character Portrait: Soren Corosa Character Portrait: Vendicare Character Portrait: Drusa Deszled Character Portrait: Markus Wright Character Portrait: Graham Lennox Character Portrait: Elvis Johnson Character Portrait: Xylea Parihan Character Portrait: Milo Reed Corner Character Portrait: Harvey Mak Chinnen Character Portrait: Tabitha Ezerath Character Portrait: Something Seraphine

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#, as written by throne
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Michaela’s grin abated, and she let her eyes slipped closed. As serenity settled into place on her features, dusk truly descended. It was no illusion, no trick of glamour, but it hardly seemed a coincidence that the shadowy terminator was just now creeping over the westernmost of the tumbled-down fort’s walls. Twilight was upon them, and gravely, as the Omarain prepared herself, Matthew pushed himself away from his perch and stalked toward the wood he’d earlier stacked, choosing a path that steered him clear of clumped charges. He used a plain Zippo lighter to ignite a torch, and then thrust it into the tinder and kindling that had been arranged at the base of the soon-to-be-bonfire. Flames caught quickly, streaming smoke into the sky, and hungry fire began to taste the sturdier plinths of wood with flickering tongues. Matthew retreated, his duty discharged, but continued along in a circular path around the courtyard, using his captive flame to light braziers and standing torches that were used to light the fort by night.

As the last of daylight died, Michaela, eyes hidden away as if in repose, began to breathe deeply, rhythmically. Her chest swelled, making her breasts all the more obvious beneath the thin white cotton that veiled them. The fire crackled as it climbed the scaffold made for just that purpose, and then the luminous corona of white light that ensconced her began to spread out in every direction. At first it crept inches, and then feet, until every soul attendant was seemingly bathed in that light as well. Before their eyes, the light would seem to congeal, separating into motes that left impenetrable blackness between them, so dark all that would be visible aside from the pricks of white were their fellow charges and Guardians- each other, and the fire, which continued to burn. So potent was her gift that it might be a moment before some realized they were under the sway of an Omarain illusion, each and every one.

The walls of the erstwhile fortress were drowned in black. The library faded away as well, then the officer’s quarters, then The Compound itself, leaving nothing but endless darkness punctuated with little bits of light. It might be dizzying, or even frightful, to have the entire world as they knew it slip away from them, replaced with what might be the night sky, or the endless depths of space, or something else. Whatever it was or soon would be, the Omarain among them would know better than most how exacting the illusion must have been on Michaela. The other charges too; none of them, not even Renn, would ever have seen her display her power on such a scale before. Even the other Guardians seemed awed to behold it, all save for Simon, who simply folded his arms across his chest and made his face a still mask.

Adrift in blackness, they would hear her voice, but not from her lips. It seemed to come from all around them like the music of the stars that her motes of light were no doubt meant to represent.

”You have learned of your bloodlines, sweet ones, but most of you have been taught little of the ancestors from whom that blood flows. Most of what you have heard you learned away from this sacred place; lies, perversions, bastardizations meant to pollute what was once real magic, to reduce it to simple, commercial entertainment, to sanitize and slay it. Tonight you will learn more.”

The “stars” began to re-order themselves once more. They were legion now, great swarms of light particles in a silent dance with one another. They separated into five distinct-yet-shapeless clouds, leaving vast tracks of void beneath them, and then took their places behind the rough circles that the charges and Guardians described around the growing bonfire.

The largest free-wheeling constellation came to a stop between Michaela and Arietta, nearly between them but set lightyears back. Another settled into place 72 degrees to the first’s left, and another 72 degrees to the left of that, and so on until the five points of a star, or perhaps a pentagram, had been defined in the space around them. Some might have to crane their necks or turn about to see them all, and if they did, they’d note that the specks of light had begun a new dance, one that only lasted until they had taken on a new shape. The largest spread out, thrice as tall as Michaela (for in the illusion, sizes could really only be compared in a relative sense), and then grew even more massive as it unfurled its starry wings. The next separated into the three distinct forms, tall and slender. The next dance around the pentagram yielded two large shapes, one that seemed to walk on four legs and one that walked on two. After that, another large shape, but it was escorted by many smaller ones, and finally, to the right of the first, four distinct shapes of vaguely human size.

Michaela’s voice hummed like a leyline again, and as it did, the masses of stars, the tiny galaxies, would continue their dances, taking more distinct and recognizable shapes.

”The mighty dragons were fire and magic made flesh. They were old when the world was young. Their claws dug rivers, their breath stirred storms, and their battles raised the mountains and scorched the land into deserts. Their ways are mostly lost to us, but we know that they began primordial and will not end until the last Evincal is ended. The last true dragon was named Snowscale; she fled to the deepest reaches of the icy parts of the Earth after men had slain her brothers and sons. When the envoys came she agreed that it was the only way and shed a single frozen tear, the only component needed for the ritual that would make the blood of one strong mortal line draconic evermore.”

The largest shape was fully formed by the time she took a pause. The star-dragon was not a static thing. Its tail stirred through the deep blackness, its wings buffeted cosmic currents, and its head lowered, as if in a courtly bow, toward the circle.

”The envoys were the true fae, creatures either born of dreams or responsible for them. The truth will never be known, for they are all gone now, all sealed away in their own kingdoms to save themselves from the iron and church bells and saucers of cream that men learned were their banes. They were the architects of the Bloodlines, and stole away young men and women from a noble family for the turn of a single moon. They returned with lighter step and faerie blood and Omarain children in their wombs. The fae did not return, though. They locked the gate and melted down the key, consigning themselves forever more to dreams, until men are gone and their dreams with them.”

The three slender shapes resolved themselves into three fae, tall and willowy, with features that resembled those of humans, but too perfect to be anything but alien. They wore swords and finery of stars, and they too bowed, deep and courtly, toward the charges.

”The children of the moon had lost more and most to humankind. Their domains were the wyld places, untouched until civilization began its inevitable spread. They fought back with tooth and claw, but the advantage of men has always been numbers. The war of attrition dwindled them to almost nothing, but it made them remember that they were half-man themselves. Repentant rather than wroth, they chose a dozen humans and a dozen wolves, calling them The First Pack, and thus the Balaren were born.”

One part of the next set of stars became a dire-wolf so large that a grown man standing would barely reach its shoulders while all four of its paws touched earth. The other became a thing of nightmare, muscle and fur and claws and teeth. Both of the stellar apparitions lifted their head in an eerie, silent howl. The one on two legs declined its head toward the charges, and the one on four bent the knees of its forelegs, a lupine bow. The tale continued.

”The lords of the pit regarded humanity as little more than sustenance, things to be played with. They were the terror born of the darkness, the evil things that stalked the night, but they too were offered the chance to bind their fate more meaningfully to the races of men. Most balked or laughed, but one wise pit-lord agreed, abandoning the council of his enemy-brethren and infusing the most cunning and dangerous mortals he could find with his hellfire blood. The Mori would need his strength and their own as the centuries stretched into millennia, for there are cracks in the prison that was forged for demonkind.”

The demon lord that resulted of the dancing stars was nearly as tall as the dragon, powerfully muscled, with cloven hooves and a supple tail. In one hand he held a whip, and in the other a sword that glowed with starfire. He did not bow, but instead regarded the charges coldly with eyes made black by lack of stars.

”The spirits of nature only revealed themselves truly for the first time in the course of a single evening. They had always been there, perhaps for even longer than dragonkind, though it is not for me to say which came first, fire or dragon. They had sought harmony with men and beast alike, but men were too clever by far. Rather than being content with the gifts of the elementals, they found ways to trap them and bend them to their will without ever knowing the pain they caused. Still the elemental ones sought harmony, and bonded with a people who had never once enslaved them willingly that the Navarene might one day bring about the balance that was lost.”

The final four became fire, water, wind, and earth. Their shapes were vaguely human at best. Fire was the brightest, a burning crucible of stars. Water’s shape ebbed and flowed. The stars that formed Wind raced ‘round one another in vortices. Earth was more solid, compact and strong. As one, the joined what might pass for hands and bowed deeply.

In silence save for the crackling of the bonfire, the darkness receded, returning control of their senses to those assembled. The constellations remained, though, like an afterimage, and in the last light of dusk could be seen briefly in all their glory before they too faded. Snowscale’s armoring was gleaming alabaster, her eyes brimming with sorrow and intellect. The finery of the fae stole every color of the rainbow, and their skin was pale and far too smooth. The standing wolf had fur that was black as coal and eyes like slivers of the moon; its companion on all fours had fur of mottled gray and brown, and it was laying with its belly against the grass. The demon stood tall still, its skin burnished and rough looking, its features sinister but proud, its whip and sword forged of hellfire. The nature spirits were all the colors that they should have been, flickering or flowing or blowing or standing stalwart.

And then, they were all simply gone. The courtyard was restored to reality, and anyone who chanced to look upon Michaela would see her looking very tired, and very, very old. She drew a single breath, and in that span was young and beautiful again. She managed a smile, the weariness of which would match Arietta on her worst day. The Omarain spoke again, only just audible above the feast of flames gnawing at the wood.

”Humans are forgetting their magic.” She opened her vibrant eyes again, and let her gaze pan once more along the circle of charges and Guardians alike, Omarain and Evincal and Mori and Balaren and Navarene. ”It is the natural state of all things, even men. Remember childhood, when all the world seemed new and bright and exciting? When imagination weaved spells all its own upon you? Man has been squandering his magic, though. It is not enough for him to lift a stick from the ground and make it, just by thought, into a cane, or shelter, or a pretend-sword. Now he must cut the tree open and count the rings, must abolish every secret of nature in the name of Progress.”

Her survey of them all was done. She brought her hands together, clasping them in front of her with a gentle clap. ”There is hope for magic though. It is here, not around you, but in you. It is you. History cannot reveal a time when so many have Awakened to their blood at once, been found and brought together. Such things happened once; they were called Convocations, and the Bloodlines would meet and squabble and boast and the world continued to suffer for their arrogance. They had forgotten, but we must not forget.”

She spread her hands, as if to gather all of them in her arms. ”We must come together, not ignoring each other’s differences but embracing them. The days ahead will be different than the days behind. We have lapsed, in order to bring you all here safe and whole, but on the morrow, we begin in earnest to help you become what you must. I know to some of you, this sounds fanciful, but think of what you have learned to do already, what you have seen your fellows do. On the morrow, we begin in earnest…”

With a flick of her wrist, she sent something that glittered as it flew through the air catching firelight toward Renn: a set of keys. Where she’d hidden them on her pocketless person was anyone’s guess, as was how she’d managed to produce them, but they were there. ”Tonight, though, we revel.” Her warm smile became a grin. ”Or, I should say, you revel. It would hardly be a party with a bunch of stodgy grown-ups about, would it? Enjoy yourselves. Learn of one another. Relax for one final evening and make merry together…” One of her eyebrows lifted to form a perfect arch, as she continued. ”But try not to overdo it. I meant what I said about the morrow. You won’t want to still be feeling tonight when you awaken.”

Her fellow Guardians were not unaffected by the display; like many charges, most of them were still recovering from both the power of the vision and the strangeness of being made to see what had been so long ago. Simon had already slipped off, possibly in the midst of the presentation. Arietta was smiling softly, her expression cast thoughtful, as she rose to her feet and dusted herself off, preparing to return to the library. Matthew was frowning, but shook his head and stretched out, nodding curtly to anyone who met his eye before he took his wolf shape without a single cry of pain and raced off beyond the walls.

Poor Fleet looked positively a mess, his lower lip jutting out as he directed his attention, eyes wide, toward Michaela. She laughed, and the sound was the tinkling of bells more than it was laughter. ”Sweet Fleet, you are less a stodgy grown-up than many of our charges. Of course you may stay.” The Navarene Guardian let loose a cheer, jumping several feet into the air and then floating back down, as if gravity showed him favor just as the Omarain had. ”I need to find my hat!” he exclaimed before taking off at a run and then dissipating into wind once more.

”Good night,” Michaela called, her smile sweet as she turned to make her way back toward the officers’ quarters. No poppies followed her now; indeed, it seemed that she might have strained herself with the display. With her gone, none but the charges were left around the fire, which was now a roaring blaze.

The night was theirs.



* * *



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Faerie princes were used to being attended, and so it bothered Aaron not at all when so many valued friends joined him prior to the presentation. Seph was gifted with a warm smile, and absently, his hand. He reached out, taking hers in his in simple, friendly fashion. When Renn’s shadow fell over him, he craned his neck to look up at his most beloved advisor, craning his neck back so far that his smile for the Navarene would essentially be upside-down.

Daniel and Hazel came to sit beside them as well, and Aaron lifted his free hand in a wave to the two, slight and courtly. He said no words, for it seemed a time for silence, though delight danced on his features, almost moving him to an excited greeting when Milo came to crouch at his other side. He grinned at the boy’s bafflement, before his attention was again stolen, this time by the advent of the Western Wind, bringing spring with her as always.

He heard a question, and only then noted that Darcy was among them as well. His brow creased and his eyes hardened just a little when he gleaned distress from her demeanor, but there was no time to find the cause with Michaela drawing them all in. Then Graham was there, so close at hand, and the hand that wasn’t linked with the wolf-born maid came forward to comb fingers through the demon prince’s hair, affectionately and absently, as one might stroke a cat. The realization of who was near cast light on who was not, and he glanced about quickly, finding the others in their small clumps or solitude. He had no hands to wave with, so instead, he fought back the falling dusk with a dazzling grin.

When Michaela began in earnest, he was still and silent (save for his hand teasing through Graham’s soft locks and the slight rise and fall of his chest), captivated. Snakes might be immune to their own venom, but the fae-blooded were far from immune to Glamour. Aaron in particular was more inclined to fall under its sway than most, his resistances stripped bare in the course of embracing what he could of the fae so eagerly. As her words and phantasms enfolded them, even his hand grew restive, to slowly slide from the Mori and into his lap; his hold on Seph remained, but slackened. It was eerie, that darkness. Unreal. Even though there was still earth as firm and sturdy as Renn beneath him, he could almost feel himself floating through it, the persistent whisper of vertigo in his ear.

The swarms of stars brought movement, his head whipping this way and that to mark them and track their progress while their leader described to them their forebears, codified the images that had been dancing through his head. The fae he knew of well, but he knew little of the dragons, the demons, the spirit-folk, the wolves. They all had their secrets, that was the way of it, but Michaela had elected to lay some of them bare in a fantastic showing.

He wanted to weep when it was done, when the shadows of the fae had faded, when stark reality reigned once more. Not so stark, though. Nothing seemed entirely real when limned only by firelight, and he drew comfort from that even as he struggled not to shed a tear. The impact of the presentation on Aaron was obvious; his despair might well have been written on his face in glowing ink. They’re all gone, but we remain, he told himself. A faerie prince must only cry for love.

Fortunately, there was more. In his consternation he had forgotten the surprise! His mind was practically tripping over Michaela’s songbird words until it came at last: a revel. The eldest Omarain was retreating, leaving them to their own devices. He had known parties in his time, everything ranging from the boring but beautiful galas of his parents’ world to the crowded teenage affairs that happened behind closed doors in boarding schools, but never had he enjoyed a party on The Isle, before…

… and the faerie prince hardly needed a pretext to dance. He already had Seph by the hand, and his grip strengthened even as he lashed out with his other for one of Milo’s. ”M’lord,” he spoke, looking left, and then ”M’lady,”, looking right. It was courtesy, plain and simple, but in a show of absurd dexterity he untangled his legs and rose in one fluid bit of worship to the god of movement, drawing them up to stand with him. As he did, the music began. Organ music, oddly enough, to compete with the crackling flames and the murmurs that would no doubt follow Michaela’s departure. It was the only remotely impressive trick of illusion that Aaron had mastered as of yet, to bring music with him wherever he went. Female voices in harmony broke in over the electronic organ, making known the unspoken command of the faerie prince: let the beat control you, let the beat control you…

His Gift was only so strong, though. Artemis, alone across the courtyard after Simon’s departure, would be the only one outside the range of the song, but he might still know what the youth was up to (Aaron often provided soundtracks for their fencing practice to join the clash of foil on foil). Everyone else would hear the song, growing more and more cheerful, infectious as a pox one caught from overeating sweets.

Tethered to Seph and Milo, he kept things simple at the onset, shoulders swaying, head bobbing to the rhythm, arms swinging so that his friends’ would swing as well. He was well aware that neither were dancers, not like him (but then, who was?), but he was content to simply drag them however clumsily they might along with him into the embrace of music and motion. He turned to glance at Graham, his eyebrows providing gesture that his busy hands could not. Up, up, slugabed! they exclaimed, bouncing up toward his hairline. Just you and me, let’s break it down!

Even as simple as he was keeping it for now, there was undeniable Glamour in the performance. His grin, broad and goofy, beckoned any who beheld it to give in to the joyous imperative that the song professed. He just looked to be having so much fun that only an enemy of fun wouldn’t wish to join in. He let loose delighted, musical laughter as he began to sing along, leaning in close to Milo, to Seph, to anyone who came near enough, as if his words were meant only to serenade them.

With song and dance, the revelry was begun. Leave it to a faerie prince to conjure a celebration from the very air.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Aaron Highmore Character Portrait: Seph Winterfoot Character Portrait: Omar Maria Media Character Portrait: Soren Corosa Character Portrait: Harvey Mak Chinnen

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#, as written by Skwidge
The Cloistered Witch


Sinry had done her best to ignore most everyone else as she and Seph had made their way to the courtyards. She herself had decided to sit down by a broken down stone pillar, bringing out a pocket knife which had been stored in her, well, pocket. She had been about to set to work on her knees when Michaela decided to get things started way too quickly for her taste.

So as surroundings receded to pitch black, she successfully managed to stab herself. Soren winced, but made no noise otherwise, blood pooling just a bit, trickling down her shin. It hadn’t been a big cut thankfully, but it would still pose a bother.

But she was soon enveloped by the stars and the lights playing against her eyes. She leaned forward, crossing her arms over her knees, and her head resting atop her arms. She was immediately captured by the dragon, her eyes only leaving it to scarcely flicker across the other four.
The Evincal remained silent even after the visions had subsided. Now, she wasn’t at all too happy about being under the command of a Fae’s power, but she trusted Michaela (somewhat) to keep it only educational.

So when she gave them free reign of the night, Sinry wasn’t one to stick around. Though she took a second to briefly look over and watch the smoke filter up from the wood, soon being whisked away by a small breeze. Not only that smoke, but also Harvey's cigarettes.

By then her small wound had pretty much sealed up, though there were dried blood stains at her socks and along the skin of her shin. This wasn’t her forte anyway. She wasn’t social, so this, much like herself, would grow quickly awkward, and only make her feel terrible about herself anyway.
So without a peep, she slipped away from the campfire, knife in hand, and headed straight for the ghostyard, hoping not to be seen and not approached, but since when did such hopes ever stay fulfilled? Besides, the ghosts would like to hear what happened. Maybe she could even find a wisp or two…. Unlikely, but hey, she could at least look forward against faith that they’d show up.

She’d lost her chance to go look for them that day anyway. There was a small throbbing to her leg, but she wasn’t too worried about the leg injury. If anything, she was worried that the knife would rust, which was highly unlikely anyway. She made one last forlorn glance back to where everyone was still gathered, but decided to stay with what she wanted to do. She surely wouldn’t bother Seph, that’s for certain.

So Sinry shoved her hands in the pockets of her shorts, letting out a calm breath of air, turning and walking silently along the grounds, head tilted down and eyes focused on the ground towards her place of solitude.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Artemis Hulston Character Portrait: Tally Roawn Character Portrait: Soren Corosa Character Portrait: Vendicare

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The Girl In Rags
Tally felt truly entranced, at first she didn’t even realize what was happening but she realized soon that everything that was happening was magic and it was coming from Michaela. She didn’t fight it though, she relaxed and let the story take her away. She watched the images intently, she watched them sparkle, move, change and eventually fade. Once the images stopped, Tally was finally able to process what had just happened, what had just been said and what it meant. The magic part of the display unnerved her, the fact that Michaela could have Tally see what ever she wanted her to see disturbed her, Tally was defiantly not at piece with the whole magic thing. She didn’t really retain anything that had been said, listening for extended amount of time was not her forte, though she did file the speech away to think about later. The one thing she was thinking about though was the mention of a party, or something like that. After Michaela left, suddenly music started like magic, well, she supposed it was probably magic. People started dancing around the now lit bonfire and Tally was about to join in when she saw Soren trying to sneak off away from the gathering. Tally was not about to let her succeed in her attempt though and made her way over to the girl. She passed Vendi standing by himself, one the way flashing him a genuine, carefree smile and continuing onwards. She would have stayed to talk with him, as he was also new here and that made her feel more comfortable but she had to catch Soren before she left.

Soren hadn’t noticed her presence yet so taking advantage of the situation Tally spoke up first. “I won’t force you if you really want to leave, but I think you should at least dance a little bit before you leave. Trust me it’s really fun when you get into it” Tally sweetly with a slight happy smile. “So, Sinry, what will you choose because I’m going to go dance, and you are more than welcome to join me.”

Tally laughed lightly before turning away for Soren and moving towards the dancing hoping Soren was following but not looking behind; she wasn’t the type to force or pressure her into dancing. She wasn’t sure what Soren was going to do, sure she was trying to leave but Tally was sure she didn’t really want to leave. It didn’t matter if you had two left feet, or three or even four, dancing was something everyone could enjoy. If Soren did chose to leave though, Tally could live with that, she just wanted to make sure the girl had fully thought through what she wanted to do.

Tally moved further into the dancing. She had two left feet when it came to dancing but she didn’t let that stop her from joining in. She finally felt free, for the first time on this Isle she was in her element, she didn’t know anything about magic or all of that, but she did know how to have fun and enjoy herself.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Aaron Highmore Character Portrait: Renn Elliot Character Portrait: Seph Winterfoot Character Portrait: Daniel Sanderson Character Portrait: Soren Corosa Character Portrait: Vendicare Character Portrait: Graham Lennox Character Portrait: Elvis Johnson Character Portrait: Xylea Parihan Character Portrait: Milo Reed Corner

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Image


Seph couldn't help but laugh a little at Milo. Any traces of self consciousness she had at her own dancing were wiped far away once she was dancing alongside Milo. Of course, Seph was no expert critic of dancing technique, but she couldn't help but feel that Milo lacked to a much more severe degree than her the required grace needed for dancing of any kind. Whereas Aaron's dancing could take her breath away, Milo's seemed to just make her smile broadly and feel better about herself.

Maybe that was the point? She'd never thought about it that way.

Daniel came in for a dance, and Seph was smoothly transitioned from partner to partner. He was no Aaron, of course, but that wasn't entirely a bad thing. Trying to keep up with the Omarain boy was pretty taxing, to tell the truth, and Seph was glad for a dance with Daniel, as she hadn't seen him yet today. Or rather, hadn't talked with him. She was quite certain Daniel was keeping an eye on her whenever he could. Because of his desire to look out for her, of course. Daniel was so kind like that. And while she hoped that soon enough she wouldn't need the Mori watching out for her, Seph understood that there were still a great deal of things she didn't understand, and a great deal of ways she could unknowingly get herself into trouble. So he was her safety net, she supposed. Always there to catch her if she tripped.

"My day... was wonderful!" she said in between breaths. "For the most part. I did... accidentally make Sinry fall down a flight of stairs, but she was alright! And... I guess I helped her find something, so it worked out!" Thinking of Sinry, Seph tried to get a few looks at the people who hadn't joined in on the dancing, for reasons she couldn't fathom. She did not see Sinry among them, but she could have missed her or something. But then, Sinry didn't seem as comfortable around other people as she did Seph, so maybe it made sense that she didn't want to dance with all of them.

As the dance just about ended, Seph stopped rather suddenly at hearing Renn's voice. She didn't really understand what he meant, about setting the tone tonight, for tomorrow. For one, she didn't think she grasped the phrase as well as she should have. Setting the tone... and she had thought tonight wouldn't have affected tomorrow. They were going to have fun tonight, and work tomorrow. They were two totally separate things, as far as she knew. Unless they kept dancing all they way into tomorrow, but Seph didn't think she could dance for that long.

But there were drinks over there, that Renn and Elvis and Vendicare had brought out. That was worth checking out, as all the dancing had made her somewhat thirsty. Maybe she would go get something soon.

Their dance ended, Daniel led Seph back over to Aaron. She heard him say something about her having fun before Aaron swooped in on her. She gasped in surprise as he lifted her small form into the air in a hug, feeling that same little flutter in her stomach as he spun her in two complete circles before letting her feet touch the ground again. Her stay with Aaron this time was short-lived, however, as Graham had come forward and requested a dance of him.

"Go for it," Seph said, wiping away a bit of sweat from her brow, "I think I'll get something to drink." As Aaron began his dance with Graham, Seph took her temporary leave of the impromptu dance floor, taking a moment admire the beauty of Xylea's dance with a smile before heading off towards the drinks that had been brought forward.

Reaching the drinks that Renn and the other guys had brought out, Seph found that she didn't recognize even a few of the names. Tequila. Whiskey. Wine. She'd had some wine a few times at Sonja's place in Anchorage, but it hadn't tasted all that great to her. Maybe these were other kinds? There sure seemed to be a big variety of them. One thing was certain... there was no water.

She looked up towards Renn, who would probably see the uncertainty on her face. The two of them were on pretty good terms now, especially since Renn had stopped asking about her being a wolf so much. She found him to be very kind once she'd gotten to know him a little better. Maybe he was a little awkward at times, but hey, so was she.

"So... which one is the best?" she asked, shifting her weight onto one foot, her eyes passing back and forth over the display of drinks. "If there is a best, I mean. Is there something you prefer?"

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Aaron Highmore Character Portrait: Omar Maria Media Character Portrait: Tally Roawn Character Portrait: Soren Corosa Character Portrait: Harvey Mak Chinnen

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#, as written by Skwidge
The Cloistered Witch


“I won’t force you if you really want to leave, but I think you should at least dance a little bit before you leave. Trust me it’s really fun when you get into it” A voice suddenly presented itself to interrupt her thoughts. Not only was Sinry not expecting it, but it was Tally of all people. So Soren faltered in her step, freezing for a fraction of a second before regaining her footing and standing still.

The Evincal’s eye twitched lightly, and she wriggled the fingers of her right hand absently. I don’t dance. I can’t dance, I don’t want to dance, and it’s beyond awkward. I know that you don’t know me well at all, but I would have thought that such would be apparent. She thought silently towards her fellow dragon-born, watching her turn around and head back to the party.

Soren lingered for a few moments, her eyes scanning over the gathering and the people grouped around. She really didn’t want to remain in the area, especially as Aaron currently had free reign to use his Fae powers, which she despised most of all. With the arrival of alcohol however, she bit her lower lip, patting her pockets searchingly before nodding and quietly slinking back, a new plan forming in her head.

No, the necromancer was not going to be sticking around. Alcohol and large social gatherings were far beyond her, but she still crawled back over, hoping not to be engaged by anyone else as she gathered what she wanted. Without a word she came up by the small group clustered around the boxes and keg. Silently, she let out a breath of relief as no one else was really approaching yet.

Her fingers traced along the material of one of the lids before she popped it open from behind, her eyes quickly flickering over each individual bottle for the first letter on the labels. Her particular box was behind the keg stand, and it took probably four seconds before she found what she had been in quest for, and reached in, pulling out an entire bottle of rum, new and obviously unopened.

It was only luck that that particular alcohol had been hiding in the box, comfortably snug in the corner. Sinry backed away from the little area, walking mutedly towards another spot behind some random stonework in the area, her eyes scanning once more for one person in particular. Once having spotted him, she backed out into the darker portion of the clearing, away from the bonfire and circling in his direction.

Harvey just happened to be pretty occupied with at least three other people, so it would make her job immensely easier. Well, it still had a few bumps in it, but in a rough amount much smoother. Her lips were pressed together tightly as she walked up behind him, the rum unmoving in her left hand so it wouldn’t swish and make noise, even if the music Aaron had so… graciously bestowed was pretty loud and would most likely drown out any noises she made, it never hurt to be cautious with these things.

By the time she had finally gotten over there, most of his little group had dispersed, though still one or two lingered to keep his attention occupied, and if they couldn’t hold his attention, she was sure Aaron’s new little dance probably would.

Soren’s quick gaze came into play yet again, and she scanned over the backs and sides of his pants from her own position. Holding her breath, she leaned forward, allowing her lithe fingers to flicker into his back pocket, the space between her index and middle finger enclosing around his lighter just enough to get a grip on it and almost seamlessly pull back out. However, Sinry wasn’t an all too practiced thief, and the tips of her two fingers brushed fractionally against the fibers of the material, probably triggering the smallest of reactions in his body and alerting his brain to something being off. Or if he was sensitive anyway; he may not even care.

But by then she had the lighter sliding up with a bit of momentum, her thumb and pinky enclosing around it as well so it wouldn’t drop, and she turned, already walking away, her left hand angled so the rum was a bit more of a prominent vision point, just in case he looked up and around. “I’ll just borrow this.” A hushed whisper, holding her relief in it as well, slipped through her lips, already drowned out by the chatting and music of the party.

As she walked back out, heading towards the Ghostyard once more, someone caught her attention. She allowed a very frail yet sincere smile to present itself as she turned her head to better see him. Altering her course slightly, she walked over to Omar, slipping the newly lifted lighter into her front pocket and made a small wave towards him. “Hey Omar, wanna come to the Ghostyard and sit with me?” Her voice was somewhat soft and reserved, smooth and the tone only altering a few times in the span it took to say the sentence.

Her fingers tapped the glass of the bottle, her facial features showing that she was in thought, though a bit leaning to still hear his answer. She was tracing a figure along her right thigh in order to remember it. She had a plan to entertain herself, plus she might even get to lure those bloody wisps out of hiding, and the sooner the better.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Aaron Highmore Character Portrait: Renn Elliot Character Portrait: Seph Winterfoot Character Portrait: Darcy Lilith Ratri Character Portrait: Soren Corosa Character Portrait: Markus Wright Character Portrait: Elvis Johnson Character Portrait: Harvey Mak Chinnen Character Portrait: Something Seraphine

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Darcy Lilith Ratri
The Twilit Princess


The turn of events caught Darcy of guard as a majority of the group around her had now dispersed into dancing. She knew that this would only lead to further Glamour control from Aaron, so she knew that she needed to get out of range from his powers. The sooner she stood up, the sooner she spotted Renn walking past her. Her face seemed to form into the darkest of expressions as the flash of Renn walking away from her came across her face. She was too late on changing the expression she saw that he had given her a smile of all things, so when she had mustered up a small lift of her lips into what one might consider a smile, Renn's back was to her.

She felt herself walking towards him until she saw the two boys that were close behind him, so she retreated to a distance that she felt was far enough from Aaron's grasp. She looked around the group of students, knowing that their destinies were all about to change. She knew that somewhere deep down that this time next year they wouldn't be standing around a campfire dancing. The quick site of death in her mind made her push back against the tree as the moon provided her with the shadows she needed to build up the wall to hide herself. She enjoyed being able to watch people without them being able to watch her back. She liked the way her power supplied her with it's own power in meaning. She played with the hem of her shirt as she bit her lip hard seeing how happy everyone seemed to be in their little group of friends.

It seemed that this was how Darcy was suppose to be the rest of her life; alone. Even Renn had walked away from her in a moment that she felt was so much more, but his lack of realization that walking off was a big mistake made her clench her fist into the grass as her back slid down the tree. "Fuck feelings." She said as the shadows grew to most intense shade of black, no longer letting her see outside of the wall she had formed. She didn't like having her feelings out in the open, so the chance of it happening again was slim to none. Hearing the clanking of glass, she let the wall fade as she spotted what the boys had been after. Alcohol. The smirk across her face was something to behold, but luckily for her only Renn had the pleasure to know she was able to. He had just finished setting up the keg that he all too soon disappeared himself into the outskirts of the forest, like herself.

She knew that if she wanted him to want her as much as she wanted him to want her that she would need to change the distance between them. Walking through the wall that had formed, she walked straight towards the refreshments. She eyed over the lot of alcohol, settling for two beers. She needed Renn to loosen up, but the idea of throwing liquor into his system scared even her. She knew that many of the people standing in the courtyard had probably never drank with their power, but the second her eyes hit Harvey she knew her statement needed to be revised. She hated all that Harvey stood for, but even she couldn't completely hate him. He had so much to offer to the world, but something in his past held him back. The thoughts of Harvey stopped as Darcy turned back to her present task. Talk to Renn.

With the cold beer against her palms, Darcy knew that her powers would be at ease with the sensation of the cool sweat from the bottles. She found herself in front of Renn faster than expected, but even she could admit she had been drawn to him. With no hands available, she pushed the nearest bottle towards Renn. "Drink." The word came out to be filled with so much more than the actually meaning, but only Renn would catch the cramming of emotion in the single verb. She wanted to yell and scream at him, but she knew that would get them no where. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she felt herself trying to come up with the right words. She had now managed to open her beer bottle, down half of it, and feel the need to go get another. "What happened on the beach?"

As soon as the question was out of her mouth, Darcy wanted to bring it back in. She closed her hands hard as she felt her powers building a wall between herself and Renn. She didn't want this to happen. The wall was growing darker as she stepped through it, making her only inches from Renn's body as she looked up at him. "I don't want to run from you, but when you just left me.." Her voice drowns off as the wall falls, allowing her to take back her original distance. "You just left me."





Harvey Mak Chinnen
The Duke of Sighs


Fuck me now. The thought sprawled across Harvey's mind as his gaze fell across the fire, begging it to consume his being. He closed his eyes for what seemed like hours, trying to fathom why the fellow Omarain insisted on doing shit like this. "I swear. Sometimes I want to beat the shit out of him." He felt her was bringing blood to his lips as he bit down hard before returning the cigarette to his mouth. He inhaled for the longest time, holding it deep within his lungs before releasing the smoke out into the forest. He tugged at his jacket, pulling out another cigarette because the way the evening was going he would need to entire pack.

Seeing Erin's cat welcome Markus kindly, he didn't dare test the cats limit by offering out his hand. He had the idea of kicking it, but for some reason he liked it. Of course that was mostly due to it's owner, who soon followed behind. "Erin." He nodded seeing the look in her eyes. He could tell that tonight was not the kind of night she would intentionally find herself in, so he kept his words minimal as he remembered Something's attempt at a joke. A thought crossed his mind that made him put the second cigarette back into his jacket. He smirked as his mind worked wonders on what could possibly happen if he successfully achieves what he has in mind. He tossed the blueberry into his mouth that he had forgotten was there, tasting it's sweetness almost immediately. He smirked at Something who was still remaining on the ground with smoke in her eyes. He had guessed that the presence of Erin was also having to do with her remaining low.

It seemed within minutes that Something and Harvey were on their own, so he placed a hand around her wrist bringing her back up to his level. "More blueberries." He said as he placed his arm around her shoulders, seeing his plan unravel in front of him. He leaned close to her ear, pushing back the hair so she would clearly hear his words. "Ever watched Dirty Dancing? I'm about to make you dance a little dirtier than that. Don't resist. It's all for fun." He smirked against her ear before pulling back a normal distance. He was just about to walk away when he felt the slightest movement where their shouldn't have been. With a quick pat down, he looked over his shoulder to see Soren with his lighter. She wants to play this kind of game. The smirk was replaced with the thoughts of how he could get back at her, but at the moment he was too busy shocking the majority of people in the circle.

He led Something to the middle of the students, pulling her against him as he let his glamour take control. Their hips began to grind as Harvey let himself darken the music, giving Aaron a look before he continued to grind against Something. "Let the music take over." He said through almost a whisper that only she would be able to hear. The movements matched what would look like a scene from Dirty Dancing, so he was pleased by the awe most people now gave them at their willingness to openly grind against each other in the most inappropriate way. Catching the eyes of Seph, the most devilish smirk came across his face as he licked his lips as he grinded with Something. The poor girl would never know what she meant to him, but in this moment he knew that it would be fun to play the game with her.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Aaron Highmore Character Portrait: Omar Maria Media Character Portrait: Soren Corosa

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Image


As he sat under the lofty tree, its branches reaching just over his head into the dark abyss of night, Omar couldn’t help but feel… alone. He had been alone only for the last two years; understandably, he was still getting used to it.

Omar heard himself silently whistle an old tune that he had picked up back in Toledo; it was probably originally a chant, but Omar didn’t know the lyrics.


“Hey Omar, wanna come to the Ghostyard and sit with me?” Her voice was somewhat soft and reserved, smooth and the tone only altering a few times in the span it took to say the sentence. Sinry’s nervous persona reached above him, and in the dark, seemed to unite with the darkness of the Earth to create one solid entity. One of Omar’s few friends.

Despite Omar’s inhibition to ever go near the Ghostyard, Omar felt honorbound by the invitation. Therefore, he almost resented his words as they spilled quietly from his mouth. “I-“ Omar stopped to clear his throat, which was dry from hardly ever being used. “I would like that.” Not really, but he would never reveal that.

Placing his feet flat on the ground before him, he shifted his weight and shot his head up. Successfully rising without using leverage besides the momentum of his own body, Omar began to shake the dirt and dust off his ass, and then turned to Soren.

Now, with perspective and proper lighting, she really looked beautiful. Almost stunning. [b]”Whoa,” Omar said, looking over her in the light of the Moon and the lamps, “if I didn’t play for the boys, you’d have yourself a suitor in me!” With the silliness of his comment, Omar gave her a slight giggle. He still remembered the first time he realized he liked boys.

He could see the glow on Sinry’s eyes and the look on her face. He wasn’t sure what she meant by it, but he assumed it was a sassy look like “Really?” To answer her, “You know, if my mother knew I liked you-know-who and not you, she would have hit me across the head and command me to marry you.” He giggled some more, waiting for the girl to lead them off to the Ghostyard.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Omar Maria Media Character Portrait: Soren Corosa

0.00 INK

#, as written by Skwidge
The Cloistered Witch


Soren put one hand leniently on the pocket with Harvey’s lighter stashed away within, her nose wrinkling ever so slightly and her left eyebrow raising in disbelief. She tapped the bottle against her thigh lightly, waiting for him to finish what he was saying, in order to be polite. It wasn’t that she disliked listening to him, it was just the random comment was throwing her off.

A small almost mischief-like smile flickered across her features, gone as fast as it had appeared. “Voldemort!?” She put her hand up to her mouth in a mock gasp, her eyes lighting up ever so slightly before she shook her head, turning and leading the way down the well trodden path to the Ghostyard.
She glanced around for a moment. “So what have you been doing all day?” Her voice was loud enough to travel over the music that was still lingering within their range as the two walked further into solitude.

Sinry of course just expected him to talk as they walked, so walk she did. The sooner they got away from the large social gathering the better. The necromancer really disliked having to trek through one of the forests to get there, and she was still set on trying to find a different path. However, she rarely had the time to really go exploring for such a purpose, as she was always wrapped up in some form of training or another. (Or diving down stairs, or walking along window ledges, or crawling under furniture, or vaulting over random obstacles, or- well, you get the point, in pursuit of pencils.)

So the girl resigned herself to her fate every time and made the same trail to the place she knew best. And that’s where they happened to be now – on that very trail. The trees that surrounded the leaf littered path seemed to close in on the bodies that ventured to break their unspoken rule of silence and privacy; that they dared to speak out this night among them, to break their time of peace.

Soren actually didn’t mind her surroundings much. She knew the path pretty much like the back of her hand. Besides, she was a necromancer after all. The leaves shuddered and shifted as a breeze kicked up, running through or around anything that dared pose a hindrance to its path. Sinry gave a small yawn, noting that they were almost out of the tree cluster anyway.

As soon as the two broke out of the woods, the Evincal’s eyes darted across the clearing, scanning for anyone who was up. And by that she meant ghosts and the likes. There were only about three wandering the large expanse. Lips pressed tightly together, Soren led Omar towards the single tree which was the only prominent thing in sight.

She looked around the circumference of the tree, searching for a stick or something like one that she could use. Once discovered, she returned to the front of the tree, or where Omar was anyway, and stepped two feet away from him. Soren crouched down, her left arm resting on her left knee, and leaned forward, running the end of the stick through the terra until there was a somewhat deep line.

Flashing Omar a small half grin, she returned to her work, her head tilted slightly as she traced the stick through the soil which had been dampened and thus softened by the previous days' rains. However she paused for a moment, bringing the bottle of rum which she had been carrying to the close proximity of her foot. She set down the stick, and drew her pocket knife from one of the many pockets in her shorts.

The girl thumbed through some of the different tools before coming to the actual blade, proceeding to rest it against the plastic wrapping which surrounded the cap, slicing along the ridge carefully before removing it entirely. After about twenty-five seconds of attempting to wrest the cap off, she crawled back over to Omar and handed it to him expectantly.

She then turned back around, reclaiming her stick, and then resumed to continue in her drawing, a thoughtful and focused expression on her face as she recalled the images from earlier that evening. She only blinked every so often, as she didn’t want to lose the point at which she was at.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Aaron Highmore Character Portrait: Omar Maria Media Character Portrait: Soren Corosa

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Image


“Oh yes, totally. Voldemort.” Omar replied, face mock-agitated. “You know, I’ve only ever seen the first two movies and never read the books. That being said, I don’t like reading in English.”

Following Soren, Omar lightly let himself into a dreary state, dreaming of the soft waters near Toledo where he would spend his nights howling. Yes, he would howl for days it seemed, mourning the loss of his mother, his family, his life. A small strain of relief always gleamed in the back of his head: his stepfather was dead. But without an other picture, Omar was certain it had been him who had murdered both mother and stepfather, injuring his two elder sisters, and Lord only knew what else.

The night’s moon wasn’t particularly full or vibrant, but nevertheless, the Moon was always Omar’s main attention. Yes, even if Aaron was half-naked in Omar’s bed, moaning with anticipation (which wouldn’t necessarily thrill or discourage Omar either way), Omar’s eyes would be cast against “La Luna”. To him, She was the celestial manifestation of the Virgin Mary, the Feminine principle of divinity and his one protectress. No, flesh, EVEN fae-flesh could never tempt him away from his devotion to the Moon. The only boy who could ever do that would have to be the one boy who could personify the moon. Was the Aaron? Maybe, but Omar didn’t rest that idea too long. Aaron had many more suitors, and Omar was just a fool in the dark.

Omar’s education had taught him very simple but essential precepts: 1) Never believe in anything unless you absolutely want to believe in it; 2) Never judge someone based on their beliefs; 3) See the beauty in others’ beliefs, AND if they have proven their passion to be truly genuine, then view it equal to your own. Omar refused to see ghosts, or spirits, or anything. He didn’t necessarily NOT believe in them, he just wasn’t focused enough TO believe in them. Omar had realized that he was only one of a few people Soren trusted to see her art and not judge it. And indeed, Omar never judged. He gazed on in fascination and wonder, but he never judged.

When Soren had passed him the rum, he made sure the opening was clear and clean, sniffed it, and swallowed back a few gulps’ worth. Omar wasn’t a rum-fellow. Nor beer, nor vodka nor anything of that sort. He liked wine and brandy, especially cognac, and he wasn’t usually one to indulge in alcohol just for sport. He was a quiet drunk. The type of drunk that sit in the corner and seemed to listen to some eternal playlist of the world’s most anguishing music. But this time, Omar realized the rum was a sort of “peace pipe” from Soren, and to refuse it would probably be to refuse her.

“Would it disrupt your art if I prayed? It has put me in a strangely spiritual mood. I am surrounded by dead, it seems, and as we say: espera respirar por acá de los muertos.” Omar’s eyes flashed in the moonlight beneath the tree. His breath had settled low and light, attempting not to disturb the dead; this was a very old superstition he had learned and lived by. And as someone who had murdered, he was not one to disturb the dead further.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Omar Maria Media Character Portrait: Soren Corosa

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#, as written by Skwidge
The Cloistered Witch


She cocked her eyebrow at him, crossing her arms lightly. “You haven’t seen all the movies?” She shook her head in mock disappointment, clicking her tongue against her teeth quietly. Without another comment, she watched him easily unscrew the top, and then proceed to take a few gulps of the alcohol. She expected him to drink at least a little bit of it, so she outstretched her hand for the bottle back.

Once he consented to her request, she crawled back over to her drawings in the dirt. One of the dragon, it’s eyes being the most detailed and prominent, as she had worked at it with her trusty pocket knife instead of the bulky and awkward stick. The second drawing was of the wolf, its head tilted up and maw parted in a silent howl. She had even detailed the wind from its jaws softly in her dirt canvas.

”Would it disrupt your art if I prayed?” She was about to ask which art he was referring to before he continued. ”I am surrounded by dead, it seems, and as we say: espera respirar por acá de los muertos.” Soren’s left eyebrow quirked up once more, and a small grin wormed its way onto her face. “Something about it not being polite to breathe in front of the dead? Sorry, rough translation. I’m not very good at Spanish.” She shook her head, it was silly, but she didn’t really let that show on her face. Being a necromancer, the dead loved to listen to her breathe and speak, it was strange, but it was a ghost thing. “Of course not, feel free to do so.”

With a nod of approval in the direction of her art, she then uncapped the rum again, quietly allowing it to trickle into the indentions of the dirt. She smiled contently to herself, her eyes closed in that simple self-joy of what she’d accomplished, and she pulled out Harvey’s lighter from one of her pockets. She flicked a sideways glance at Omar, and put a finger up to her lips. “Yeah, don’t tell Harvey I took this. Also I’m a secret pyromaniac,” She rolled her eyes comically. “I’m giving Daniel a run for his money, don’t tell him either. Also you probably shouldn’t mention this to Seph, or- well, you know, let’s just keep this a secret between ourselves.” By the time she finished her slightly awkward phrasing, she had her chin and left cheek resting in the palm of her hand as she watched Omar.

Once she was satisfied with his reaction, she turned back, pressing down on the smell lever and ran her thumb down of the wheel. The flame flicked to life, and she silently lowered it down to the alcohol, waiting a few second before it caught, and then watched as the fire licked its way along all of the lines and dashes and the like. Afterwards, she shifted to the right a bit, doing the same with the wolf and then the breath. It was a calming look with the flames blue against the dark night, the only other bright thing in the clearing being the faint glow of the specters wandering around, minding their own business.

Another self indulged nod, and she slid back against the tree next to him, resting her chin on her knees with her arms clasped around the front of her shins, watching the flames flicker without a noise. She once more brought the rum bottle back to her leg, and she ran her finger along the mouth of the bottle, and brought it up into her own. She didn’t particularly like alcohol, unless it was mixed into something else, like coke or pepsi or other. She was never a big drinker. So instead, Soren listened to Omar’s breathing, and the soft rumble in his chest of a few escaped, incoherent words.